


Desperate Measures

by sulkingroom



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Body Hair, Bottom Harry, Casual Sex, Desperate Harry, Desperation, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Feminine Harry, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Hot Waxing, M/M, Pain Kink, Threesome, Waxing, Waxing Fetish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 13:58:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22973002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sulkingroom/pseuds/sulkingroom
Summary: "Apparently Glenne had been more of an expert on waxing than she’d let on, because the current helping of purple goo that’s quickly sinking through Harry’s pubes to the sensitive skin beneath is hot. So hot that Harry briefly panics, pulse racing and palms sweaty as he drops the stick back into the melted wax and begins fanning his crotch frantically. He really doesn’t want to have to make a trip to the pharmacy with decidedly intimate burns just because he’s been impatient and greedy."
Relationships: Glenne Christiaansen/Harry Styles, Jeff Azoff & Harry Styles, Jeff Azoff/Glenne Christiaansen, Jeff Azoff/Glenne Christiaansen/Harry Styles, Jeff Azoff/Harry Styles
Comments: 5
Kudos: 46
Collections: Hairy Styles Pubefest 2020





	Desperate Measures

“H, honey, you  _ really  _ do have to stay still, or I’m going to get it in your eye.” 

They’re sprawled across the living room carpet, a half-empty bowl of roasted vegetable chips to one side, Glenne’s at-home waxing kit gently heating to the other. Harry’s munching loudly on an ice cube - plucked from Glenne’s glass - gasping around it when his teeth flare in sensitivity. 

“More wine first?” Harry beams up at her toothily from where he’s laid out between her open legs, cheeks flushed rosy from the two glasses he’s already downed. 

“If I say yes, are you going to stop wriggling?” Glenne sighs. 

“One more sip!” he giggles, sitting up to reach for his glass on the side table before swallowing a large mouthful, his fingers slippery against the condensation on the glass. 

It’s sharp on his tongue and burns just right as it slips down, warming him from the inside out, and he might be half way to drunk, but he can’t remember when he last felt this comfortable. 

“I’m all yours,” he promises, suddenly solemn, shuffling his bum across the floor until he’s flat on his back, his head on the embroidered Gucci pillow they’ve set out ready and waiting. 

“Talk me through it,” Harry requests, smiling up at her. 

He can already feel the pillow dampening beneath his head, his hair still falling in wet ringlets over his shoulders after the hour-long bath he and Glenne took together, Harry insisting on taking the tap end despite the way the hot metal burned his back every time they topped up the warm water. 

Glenne had taken his toes between her fingers one by one, soft and slippery from the bubbles, painting them carefully with the glittery lilac polish they’d picked out together earlier that afternoon. 

Their trips to the drug store were an essential part of their pamper nights, Harry throwing whichever bath bombs, lip glosses and face masks that caught his eye into the cart while Glenne searched the shelves for the things they’d actually need. As per Harry’s request, they’d always stop for juice on the way home, drinking them - Harry’s green and Glenne’s red - while they drove, the warm wind whipping their hair around their faces, the low afternoon sun the backdrop to their improtru karaoke sessions with the top down.

Once his nails were finished and sparkling, they’d lathered up each other’s hair and massaged in a banana-scented conditioning mask. Harry can still smell bananas as Glenne brushes his hair off his forehead, tucking it behind his ears. 

“So…” she reaches over to stir the melted wax with a wooden stick. “It’s up to temperature now. See how all the little pieces have melted? Like fondue,” Glenne laughs, slapping the stick against the tacky surface of the wax. 

“Fondue for my face,” Harry mimes popping the end of his finger into his mouth and biting.

“Harry this is serious.” 

“Deadly. Go on.”

“I just use this to spread the wax where we want it,” she pulls out the stick and holds it up for Harry to see, a trail of pale pink wax hanging from it. “Then once it’s hard, we pull it off.” 

Harry raises his eyebrows but says nothing. He’s being  _ good.  _ He’s behaving. 

“Ready?” she asks. 

“Wait -” Harry starts, shielding his eyebrows from Glenne with his hands. “How do I know you’re not going to yank my entire eyebrow off? It’s taken me ages to get this shape right.” 

“That’s why we put the Vaseline on,” she explains, pulling his hands away before leaning in and checking that the edges of his eyebrows are completely covered in the thick gel. She presses a quick kiss to his forehead once she sees they’re fine.

“The wax won’t stick to the Vaseline, so the rest of your eyebrow is fine. And if you’re that bothered, I  _ really  _ don’t know why you’re letting me do this after half…” she squints at the almost empty bottle on the table, “...three-quarters of a bottle of white.” 

Harry links his fingers before resting his hands on his chest, breathing deeply. He’s not worried. He trusts Glenne implicitly. But she does have a point. “Because it’s  _ fun, _ ” he decides. “Come on, slather me up.” 

As she crowds over him to begin, he can smell the sharp freshness of her laundry detergent and the wet ends of her hair tickle his bare arms as she moves. Harry expects the hot wax to be exactly that, but when Glenne drags the stick tenderly across his brow bone, it doesn’t burn in the way Harry anticipates. It’s warm and thick and comforting. It’s a lot like the self-warming facial gels that Harry  _ loves.  _

He doesn’t realise that his eyes have slipped closed until Glenne taps a finger sharply against his eyebrow.

“The hair follicles - the little holes - open up because the wax is hot. We need to wait until the wax’s cooled enough to harden, but if we wait too long, the follicles will close again and it’ll hurt more.”

“That’s fine,” Harry says automatically. He can’t help it if he enjoys everything that bit more when it hurts, and he’s way past hiding it from Glenne. 

“Obviously…” she agrees absently, tapping Harry’s eyebrow again to check the wax before reaching to drain his wine glass when she realises her own is just slightly out of reach. “Ready?” 

“Yup,” Harry pops, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes again, not wanting to distract Glenne with an intense stare while she hovers just centimetres above his face. 

Glenne’s fingers, cold from his wine glass, lay either side of Harry’s eyebrow before she reaches with her other hand to grasp the cooled wax. 

“Okay. Three. Two.” She pulls on “One” 

It’s not pain. It’s heat. A split second of numbness followed by the thrum of scorching heat blooming across Harry’s brow bone. The warmth radiates down his body, mingling deliciously with the wine already simmering away in his stomach before coming to rest in his cock. He takes his bottom lip between his teeth and arches into the feeling. 

“All good?” Glenne checks, clearly surprised by his silence. 

When Harry nods sleepily, Glenne quickly repeats the process with Harry’s other eyebrow, the sensation even better now that his skin’s sensitive and he knows what to expect. 

“I just need to -“ Glenne stretches away and the soft inside of her thigh rolls into Harry’s flushed cheek. She returns with a wet cotton pad which she wipes over his newly-arched eyebrows and forehead, the skin beneath now only  _ slightly  _ on fire. “All done, beauty queen. Go and have a look, see what you think.” 

Harry stands on wobbly legs and makes his way over to the mirror above the fireplace. He doesn’t even consider covering the bulge in his pyjamas. Their pamper nights descend into mutual orgasms more often than not, and he definitely didn’t miss the way Glenne’s eyes caught his hips shifting restlessly against the ground as she worked. 

In the mirror, the skin surrounding his eyebrows is a fiery red against the flushed pink of his face. His eyebrows are neat and sharp and Harry’s eyes already look more open - glassy and wide in the low light of the living room. 

“Shall I do you?” Harry asks excitedly, turning back to Glenne only to find her already switching off the heating plate.

“Have you  _ seen  _ your hand-eye coordination after wine? I have to walk around with this face, you know,” she says not unkindly while popping a carrot chip into her mouth. 

Harry tries to hide his disappointment. “ _ Fair _ …” he pauses. “Not your face then. Somewhere else?” 

“I’ve already shaved my legs and I get my armpits lasered, sorry H.” 

Harry slips to his knees and knee-walks back between Glenne’s still-open legs, resting his fingers against her thighs before slowly tracing his way up the inside seam of her leggings. 

“Here?” Harry asks breathily once his fingertips reach the burning fabric moulded to Glenne’s pussy. He doesn’t think she’s wearing underwear. 

Glenne groans, rolling her hips up into Harry’s hand as he presses against her, feeling at the soft brush of her pubes through the worn fabric. She allows herself a handful of sloppy thrusts against his fingers before taking Harry’s wrist in her hand and bringing up his palm to kiss it softly. “Not a chance,” she says, standing up before collecting the various bits of her waxing kit from around them, along with Harry’s now-empty wine glass. 

Harry staggers to his feet, following her weakly. “You can do mine,” he offers, because really, that’s where he wants this to end up. 

Glenne pulls Harry into a soft embrace, her hands full behind his back as he sags against her, grinding his crotch across her hip halfheartedly. 

“The next time we’re both off work, I’ll take you to get a Hollywood wax. I’ll leave mine alone and get one with you. You should try it, honestly,” she smirks, kissing him breathless as he struggles to remain standing. “ _ Then  _ you’ll know pain.” 

“We could’ve gone today,” Harry notes with disappointment, trailing his fingertips across his eyebrows, glowing at the sensitivity. 

“I think they’ll need a bit more notice for a pop princess like yourself.” 

“Will you remember?”

“As soon as you, or Jeff, let me know when you’re not busy, I’ll book it. I know a few places. I trust the staff.” 

"Does it hurt?"  Harry’s voice is small.

Glenne’s whoop of laughter takes Harry by surprise. “Like a motherfucker.”

“More than eyebrows?”

“Don’t worry. More than eyebrows.” 

~

It’s almost two hours later when Harry and Glenne fall into bed. They’re covered in crumbs from their midnight buttered toast and sticky from the tequila they’d moved onto once the wine ran dry. They’re in separate beds for the first time in days. 

Harry had protested, but when he’d tried to climb in alongside Glenne, his cold feet pressed against Jeff’s calves beneath the covers, he’d been promptly ushered into his own bed as Jeff grumbled about being up in a few hours. 

“But I’m horny,” Harry had whined, his cock aching after spending the last few hours at least half hard. 

“Glenne.” Jeff mumbled into the pillow in both answer to Harry and an attempt to shift responsibility for Harry’s arousal over to her. 

When Glenne’s answering middle finger and “sort it yourself, greedy,” had discouraged Harry back into his own room, Glenne and Jeff had been asleep in seconds. 

~

Harry doesn’t bother to close his bedroom door behind him. He never has, and his plan to take himself apart on top of the bedsheets doesn’t feel like it necessitates it. 

He’s in the mood for everything. Just drunk enough to be completely languid and loose and open. He’s ready to pull out all the stops. To be fucked to the edge of consciousness. He contemplates calling someone, ideally video calling them, just to let them talk him off while he tucks the better part of his fist into himself, but he checks the clock and seeing that it’s almost 5AM in the only timezone that matters puts paid to that idea. 

He can almost hear Glenne’s stern command to take his makeup off in his ear but he pays it no mind as he scrubs at his eyes, ignoring the stain of mascara left against his fist before dropping his pyjamas to the floor and stepping out of them. As he slides between his cool bed sheets, his cock fills, heavy and wanting. His skin’s boiling, the rush of alcohol through his veins keeping him warm in the air-conditioned room. 

After attempting to sleep for what feels like hours but is closer to five minutes, Harry gives it up as a bad job. He considers crossing his room to have another look at his now-smooth eyebrows in the mirror. But even though his mind’s racing a mile a minute, his body’s exhausted from a long day followed by more alcohol than he can remember drinking on a weekday in months. He settles for opening up the front camera on his phone and switching on the bedside lamp to get a proper look at them. 

He runs a fingertip through the short hairs, pushing them against the direction of growth, pinching a cluster between his fingernail and the pad of his thumb, tugging gently on the hairs. Harry feels himself pulled into the soothing throb of dull pain that’s growing beneath the skin on his forehead, working to keep his eyes open as they threaten to close in pleasure. He considers trying to sleep again. He probably could now, relaxed as he tugs at his brow hairs with enough force to pull at the skin beneath, but the stirring in his cock hasn’t subsided, and it’s stopping his brain from switching off.

With a resigned sigh he takes his cock into his hand, melting into the bed at the instant relief. Usually when he’s been drinking - despite being near constantly hard - he needs to coax his cock into catching up with his brain, but after only a few leisurely passes of his hand he already feels the comforting warmth in his stomach that tells him it won’t take long. 

He comes thick and messy into his pubes, snoring before he has the chance to clean up. 

~

In the few days since Harry’s successful introduction to waxing, he’s thought of little else, wandering around the house nipping at his pubes, plucking the coarse hairs from his shins with tweezers, pulling at his brow hairs every time he wants a physical reminder of the searing pain.

He spoke to Jeff the following morning, hoping to cement a free day that he could feed back to Glenne for her book them both in at a salon, only for Jeff to deliver the devastating news that they’re both needed in various capacities for pretty much the next two weeks solid, and won’t have a shared day free. 

It’s with the weight of disappointment heavy on his shoulders and a determined heat in his belly that he makes his way into Glenne’s dressing room the next time her and Jeff are out, away for the afternoon visiting Glenne’s friends from school at a new restaurant downtown. 

With the way that Glenne and Harry have taken to sharing clothes and cosmetics lately, he knows his way around her beauty supplies. Her waxing kit stands on the top shelf of her floor-to-ceiling vanity cabinet, and he has to stretch to take it down, carrying the silver case back through to his own room before he begins. 

He spends the next few minutes flicking from video to video on YouTube, watching various beauticians and amateurs alike explain their way through the waxing process, debating the benefits of hard wax over soft, and the best approach for getting the smoothest results. 

Harry’s hard by the beginning of the fifth video. A professional demonstration of a particularly hairy person having their chest waxed. The camera begins focused on their upper body, the beautician providing a voiceover as her hands move in and out of shot while she prepares the wax. She lays a measured strip across the client’s sternum and without pause quickly tears it, along with a thick stripe of hair, away from their skin. 

When the camera pans up to the person’s face, contorted in what  _ must  _ be agony, Harry wiggles out of his boxers, leaving only his thin yellow beach dress covering his flushed body. Like flicking through porn, he scans the related suggestions and changes the video, this time opting for an instructional walkthrough of a bikini wax, narrated by a smiling blonde woman who’s heating a pot of wax beads beside a long-haired brunette lying along a treatment bed. 

He watches just enough to get a thorough picture of what he’s supposed to do, and in what order, and closes the browser and his laptop, clenching his thighs together in eager excitement. He’d  _ said  _ he’d wait for Glenne, but he can convince himself that she hadn’t seemed that bothered, and if she wants company for her own wax, he’ll be only too happy to tag along with her. 

It takes less time than Harry expects for the wax beads to melt inside the little heating pot, their edges losing shape until they mold together to become one slick piece of malleable goop. Maybe he really  _ had  _ been piss drunk when he and Glenne had last done this and it had seemed to take an age. That, or the prospect of sharp pain and  _ smoothness _ is rocketing time forwards.

After giving the melted wax a quick stir, he carries the heating plate over to the floor-length mirror at the foot of his bed, placing it on the floor alongside the tissue and cleansing gel he’s already laid out in preparation. 

He hikes his dress up to his chest, shimmying it over his hips before hooking his chin onto the bundle of fabric to keep it in place, and with wide eyes takes in the picture before him. 

The YouTube videos had advised trimming before waxing, but all of the people’s pubes in  _ those  _ videos had been straight or lightly curled, laying flush to their bodies and providing just a shadow of coverage across the joint of their legs, peeking out prettily from their bikini bottoms. Harry’s pubes are nothing like that, dark and coarse and curled close to his body, almost thatched and  _ so  _ dense. He pulls at a few, stretching the curly hair to its full length and shivering when he lets go and it springs back into place. 

He’s completely hard now, his cock standing proud and wet from the thick crop of hair at the base, his balls only slightly obscured by a dark covering of hair, as curly as the rest but slightly more sparse. Where his hips and stomach meet his pelvic mound, the hair thickens as it goes, thinning again as it descends his legs, giving way to the short hair across his thighs that’s growing back with stubbly sharpness since the last time he shaved. 

He runs his index finger around the head of his cock, bucking up into the sensitivity and trailing a string of sticky precome as he pulls it away. He sucks hungrily on his wet finger, moaning at the salty taste. 

With his dress still held under his armpits, he sits down, legs splayed wide and bent at the knee as though he’s preparing to give birth. 

He gathers everything he’ll need, the wooden spatula bowing under the weight of the thick glob of wax he’s picked up, shiny and lavender-scented. Before it can fall and make an incriminating mess on the carpet, Harry takes a sharp breath, presses his cock to one side to hold it clear, and slaps the wax-covered stick against the curly hairs. 

Apparently Glenne had been more of an expert on waxing than she’d let on, because the current helping of purple goo that’s quickly sinking through Harry’s pubes to the sensitive skin beneath is hot. So hot that Harry briefly panics, pulse racing and palms sweaty as he drops the stick back into the melted wax and begins fanning his crotch frantically. He really doesn’t want to have to make a trip to the pharmacy with decidedly intimate burns just because he’s been impatient and greedy. 

When the burning sting dulls to an almost pleasant warmness Harry finally takes a breath.

His cock has sprung free in the commotion and now sways, pink and full and aching to be touched, the sharp edge of panic drawing his balls up tight and close. Now that he’s not worried about burning his skin clean off, he can almost enjoy the overwhelming sensation. While waiting for the wax to cool, Harry wraps one sweaty hand around himself, fighting his way up beneath his bunched dress with the other until he can get a firm grip on his nipple. He thrusts his hips forward into the clutch of his hand, riding the undulating ridges of his fingers as he clamps down around his cock and fucks up into the sweat-slick heat. Never one to deny himself, he pinches his hard nipple and throws his head back in a guttural moan. 

“Fuck - oh,” he whines. 

When he feels the faint tickle of hair beneath his fingers he abandons the nub of his nipple to  _ pull.  _ The resulting tug feels as though it’s coming from right inside his chest. He’s murmuring to himself - “God, please. Fuck. Ouch, oh God” - and it fucking  _ hurts,  _ the pull of it sharp and sore but he  _ can’t stop  _ and his mind’s hazy and his cock’s pulsing in his fist and before he can think twice he grabs a single hair and  _ rips. _

He screams into the empty house, panting through the pain while he can  _ feel _ the single hair from his nipple rough between his fingers. Grinding his teeth and scrunching his toes, he manages to tear his hand from inside his dress and the other away from his cock to hold his orgasm back. Even untouched his cock is leaking messily into his pubes and he has to force himself to  _ breathe.  _ Breathe through it and unclench his stomach and let the orgasm go before it can be taken from him. 

As he’s coming back down, shaky and sweating and still deliriously close to coming, he remembers what Glenne said about the wax cooling and becoming more painful, fusing to the individual hairs while the follicles close and tighten. When he taps the patch of shiny purple beside his cock his stomach sinks. It’s almost completely cool to the touch, perhaps even cooler than the flushed skin it’s resting upon. 

He takes another deep, steadying breath, wetting his lips and flinching at the salty tang of sweat beading there. Wiping the sweat from his hands on the gauze of his dress’s hem, he picks at the very edge of the wax, welded fast to the hairs beneath and already pulling them painfully before he can even get a good grip. 

Now that the high of his almost-orgasm is beginning to fade and the adrenaline coursing through his body begins to ebb, it’s starting to really  _ genuinely  _ hurt. Like, pain  _ more  _ than pleasure. He can just about get his fingers between his skin and the wax, shuffling them underneath amongst his pubes until he can get a good grasp. But he’s already tender, and his fingers are bigger than Glenne’s, and it  _ hurts.  _

Once he has a hold of the wax he pauses. Because  _ fuck.  _ It hurts now. A lot. But when he rips thousands of hairs straight from his skin, it’s going to  _ fucking  _ hurt. He knows he would’ve been better tearing it away right as he was about to come, half mad with arousal and already enjoying the painful twinge of his skin as he plucked at his nipple hairs but  _ this?  _ This is unimaginable. 

Panicking, he briefly considers cutting the wax away. But in some places it’s dribbled further through his pubes than others. Here and there, it’s made its way right through to his skin. There’s no chance of cutting  _ that  _ away. 

He mistakenly catches sight of himself in the mirror again. Cheeks ruddy, hair flattened with sweat, one nipple (now minus a single hair) burning red and visible through his dress, cock drippy and straining, framed by the shimmering wax he needs to fucking  _ deal with _ . He looks debauched. Through his internal quarrel, his erection still hasn’t flagged, and he risks two tiny pumps up and down his cock to force himself back into the right headspace. It doesn’t completely dull the burning pain where his fingers are attempting to lift the wax out of his pubes, but he can almost imagine managing to actually fucking do this now. 

He can’t think about anything other than the problem stuck between his legs, so absorbed with the matter at hand that he doesn’t hear the front door opening downstairs. Doesn’t hear the muffled conversation climbing up the stairs. Doesn’t hear the footsteps across the carpeted landing as he takes a hold of the piece of stubborn wax between his finger and thumb, grimacing as it tugs his skin painfully. He doesn’t even hear his bedroom door open. But as he takes a breath, makes a weak attempt to compose himself, fists his free hand in the fabric of his dress, and  _ pulls,  _ he sees Jeff and Glenne in the doorway. 

He meets their eyes as tears well up in his own, the wax now barely hanging on and a cluster of his pubes stuck to the underside. 

“What the  _ fuck,  _ Harry?” Jeff’s holding a box of what Harry assumes must be leftovers meant for him, his phone in his other hand, the sound of someone’s voice tinny through the speaker. “I’ll call you back,” he rushes, hanging up. 

“God, what are you doing?” Glenne asks, realisation settling across her face as she takes in the waxing kit and the blob of half-used wax hanging on precariously next to Harry’s cock.

“Wait… Really?” she laughs. “You’re  _ that  _ impatient?” 

Harry sniffles, the burning ache from pulling a patch of his pubes out a second ago now dwarfed by the hot embarrassment of being caught. “I just wanted to have a go,” he pouts.

He wants to let his dress fall, to cover up the mess he’s made and pretend he didn’t only make it halfway through before getting scared. But he doesn't want the disappointed but hungry way they’re both watching him to stop, half naked and squirming and desperate on the carpet of  _ their  _ house. 

“Well, I mean, you’ve done that.” Glenne laughs again, making her way over to Harry and crouching beside him as she leans in to check on where the wax is still clinging to Harry’s hair. She tugs at the connection gently, watching as Harry’s cock twitches, a moan rumbling deep in his chest. 

“Just couldn’t manage the last bit?” She pulls again, and it  _ still fucking hurts _ . 

Harry  _ thinks  _ he hears Jeff set down his keys and phone, unable to look away from where Glenne’s fingers are pulling the wax away from his pubes, dragging the hairs taught and making the skin strain hot and sensitive where they’re still clinging on. 

“It hurts,” Harry mumbles, licking the fresh layer of sweat from his upper lip. “Like, really really fucking hurts.” 

“I thought that’s what you wanted, H?” Jeff asks from where he’s now sitting on Harry’s unmade bed behind them. 

“I thought you liked it to hurt,” Glenne adds. “More than eyebrows, remember?”

Harry’s head falls forward, his chin hitting his chest while he tries his best to ignore the pulsing in the head of his cock as Glenne continues to absently tug at the wax that just moments ago he could barely stand to touch. 

“I couldn’t do it… not to-“ he trails off. 

“What was that?” Jeff asks. 

“Not to myself,” Harry admits. “It’s not the same, I needed… I need-“ 

“You need someone else to do it for you,” Glenne finishes for him. 

He nods, his neck stiff.. 

“Get on the bed,” she instructs. “Dress off. On your back. Legs open, like this,” she slaps the inside of his thigh where he’s holding himself open. 

Harry complies obediently, crossing his arms to pull his dress over his head before scrambling onto the bed and laying with his head beside Jeff and his legs open and ready. The sheets feel like sandpaper beneath his skin. He might’ve only been abusing his nipples and crotch but he’s sensitive  _ everywhere.  _ His cock stands straight up, a persistent reminder of how much he wants this, wants the pain, wants  _ them.  _

“How long has it been on for?” Glenne asks, furrowing her own artfully arched brows as she attempts to get a good look at the mess Harry’s made. 

“Like, ten minutes? Maybe fifteen.” 

“ _ Harry _ ,” Glenne scolds, plainly disappointed. She settles between his legs, the familiar musky scent of her perfume wafting up to Harry as she moves, a welcome distraction from the artificial lavender of the wax. 

“No wonder it hurts. I bet it’s  _ so  _ sore. Why did you wait for so long?” She pauses, ghosting a finger up and over where Harry’s embarrassingly hard in front of her. “Did you get distracted playing with yourself?”

Jeff, who Harry had almost forgotten about, reaches over to knock Glenne’s hand out of the way, circling Harry’s cock with his finger and thumb, rubbing up around the head in fast jerks until Harry’s hips are twitching on the bed. 

“Couldn’t help it,” Harry pants, searching desperately for more contact where Jeff won’t offer it. “Needed it. Fuck. Turns me on so fucking much.” 

“Mmhm. We can see. Well, we’ll take care of this one for you now,” Jeff explains nodding are the used wax still clinging onto his skin, “seeing as how you’ve  _ completely  _ fucked it up.” 

Harry blushes, snapping his neck to the side and groaning into his shoulder. 

“But afterwards, once we’ve sorted out this mess, shall we do one properly, Glenne? Get him all smooth? He’s so hairy it’ll take ages, but he likes that, doesn’t he? Harry do you think you can manage that?” 

Harry’s eyes are closed tight, his face contorted as he holds himself tense, the rough drag of Jeff’s fingers beneath the head of his cock  _ so  _ good, but not enough until there’s the promise of more. Of the pain that  _ they’re  _ going to give him. Then suddenly it’s too much. 

“Jeff-“ he starts as the heat at the base of his cock begins to build and the pumping of Jeff’s fingers stops feeling like an isolated sensation and starts to feel like the road to actually coming. “Stop, no stop stop,” he pleads, thrashing beneath him. “I’ll come, stop.” 

Jeff pulls his hand away, wiping it off against the sheets where it’s damp with Harry’s precome and Harry forces his muscles to relax.  _ Again.  _ He’s aching all over. His limbs feel like lead weights and he’s exhausted after bringing himself back from the edge repeatedly. His cock’s actually  _ throbbing  _ now, and he’s so desperate to come that he feels weak and sick with it. 

“Are you ready?” Glenne asks, dancing her fingers against the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, blowing lightly against the downy hair there while she ducks as close as possible between Harry’s legs while still leaving his cock painfully neglected. 

He’s not ready. “Do it.” 

“It might hurt,” Jeff teases from above him, flicking lightly at Harry’s nipples with the very edge of his fingernails until Harry shoots him a warning look because he  _ will  _ come. 

“Just do it.” Harry grits his teeth. 

It feels like the final hour of a tattoo session when Glenne rips the last of the first attempt away. Harry’s cock dribbles pathetically and he yowls into the rough denim of Jeff’s jeans beside him. Straight away Glenne rubs over the skin to dull the pain, her hands practically freezing against his overheated body. 

“You’re so smooth,” she says, impressed, stroking the patch of newly exposed skin amongst the thick hair. “Here, feel.” 

She takes Harry’s hand from where it’s bunched white and desperate in the bedsheets and presses his fingers against where the skin’s now bare. 

“Oh God,” he whimpers. It feels amazing. Better than eyebrows.  _ So  _ much better than eyebrows. 

“Do the other. Please, Glenne. Do all of it.” He likes his pubes, likes shaving too, but the plump softness that he feels is addictive and he wants it  _ everywhere _ . 

“Jeff, open him up while I get this ready, he’s got it far too hot.” Glenne says, getting off the bed and leaving Harry pawing at his crotch while she checks the wax. 

“What?” Harry squeaks. 

“Jeff can fuck you while I wax you,” she says plainly. 

Jeff stands and begins unzipping his jeans without pause, opening Harry’s bedside drawers with a practiced familiarity before bringing out a well-used bottle of lube. One of Harry’s favourites to use with Jeff, but not the only bottle in there. Once he’s at the foot of Harry’s bed, lube uncapped and sticky, Jeff grabs Harry roughly by the thighs, yanking him bodily down the bed, his legs flailing out to either side. 

He loves being handled, being shifted and moved and propped into place to be used or put to work. Harry whimpers when Jeff’s wet finger thrusts quickly into his hole, all the way to the final knuckle and  _ always  _ thicker than he remembers. But he can take a finger unprepped - has taken two before - loves the panic that comes with it, the frantic shock at the deep intrusion that he  _ never  _ gets over no matter how many things make their way up there. 

“Another,” he breathes, running a hand down Jeff’s forearm, the hairs there prickly against his sweaty palm. 

Jeff obliges instantly and the warm pressure of his rough fingertips against Harry’s swollen prostate feels like heaven. Harry arches against the mattress, squirming to offer himself as openly as he can. His back’s sweating freely into the sheets and he can feel lube drip between his cheeks to join the mess beneath. Still, his cock is steadily dripping, precome shiny as it makes its way down into his pubes. 

Jeff knows exactly what Harry can take - has been the one to help him find his limits often enough - and he knows what he needs, sometimes before Harry has even found the muddled words to articulate it. That said, when Jeff fucks in a third finger without any warning, Harry almost whites out. 

The stretch is  _ good  _ though. Three fingers is always a lot, and Harry’s tight so it’s always going to be, but it’s far enough on the right side of painful that Harry wants to beg for the rest of them. “ _ Fuck.  _ Get in me, please, fuck. I’m ready I’m  _ ready, _ ” he babbles, meeting every thrust of Jeff’s fingers. 

“He says he’s ready babe,” Jeff says casually over his shoulder to Glenne, who’s bringing over the heating plate and a selection of clean wooden sticks to stand beside where Harry’s splayed across the bed, wet with sweat and the ever-present drops of precome. Jeff makes no move to withdraw his fingers, still fucking in quickly and knocking the air out of Harry as he crooks his knuckles on every other push.

“Are you? Ready to get fucked, H? Do you  _ need _ it?” Glenne asks him, grinning as she dips the first stick into the pool of wax, now much thicker than it had been when Harry left it a runny disaster. 

“ _ Yes, _ ” he pleads, his cheeks and chest burning, his prostate twinging with each brush over it. “Jeff please.” 

“And this?” Glenne asks, picking up a wax-laden stick to hover just centimetres above Harry’s patchy pubic hair. He can barely  _ think  _ about being waxed while Jeff’s working him like this, can’t imagine feeling more of anything, feels like he’s at his limit and just so  _ overwhelmed.  _ But then he thinks about the smoothness and the pain and having it done  _ to  _ him. 

“Once it’s on, there’s only one way it’s coming off.” She mimics a ripping motion, and he needs it. 

“Yes, God yes. Please. Both, please.” Jeff pauses his thrusts at Harry’s words, fitting all three fingers against Harry’s prostate and just  _ rubbing.  _ “What- Wait.” Harry bucks his hips and it’s  _ way too much.  _ “Close. I’m close, Jeff.  _ Please.  _ Close close  _ close _ ,” he whines loudly. 

He’s fidgety under Jeff’s hands, cock freely leaking and throat bright red as he draws shuddering breaths, his shoulders jump against the bed as he scrambles his hands around the sheets looking for purchase. 

“Okay, okay, wait H. Just wait. Be good.” Jeff extracts his fingers, squirting out enough lube to cover his cock and the pink clutch of Harry’s hole liberally. It feels absolutely freezing but perfectly so. 

Glenne nods, and when she slicks the wax across a wide strip of Harry’s pubes it’s nowhere near the burning mess Harry had tried working with. It feels comfortably warm, a pleasant heat across his pubic mound. The new sensation grounds him, and he doesn’t feel quite as desperate to come  _ right this fucking second  _ but it’s close. 

The head of Jeff’s cock presses against him, blunt and hot and firm where it forces him open. Harry groans throatily the second it’s no longer outside but  _ inside,  _ stretching him from the inside out and it’s private and internal like a stomach ache and he bears down to let Jeff in  _ deeper, quicker,  _ until he’s completely full. 

He’s so overwhelmed he thinks he might cry. “It feels so good. You feel so good inside me,” he whispers to Jeff, breathless and weak. 

“ _ You’re  _ so good.” Jeff lets slip, and he always manages to look calm, even when his jaw’s set and his hands are shaking around Harry’s ankles. “You’re fucking unbelievable.”

“Please,” Harry begs.

“Ready?”

“I need it.” 

Jeff works up to a punishing rhythm straight from the off, confident that Harry can take it and he  _ does _ , grabbing a hold of his own thighs and stretching them wide to offer himself for Jeff to just  _ take _ . 

Harry snaps his neck backwards as Jeff works into him, finding Glenne right above him, her own eyes fixed on the place where Jeff is punching into him over and over with a loud wet  _ snap snap snap.  _ Her breath’s hot against Harry’s skin and he can feel how her breathing shudders as she watches. She taps the new patch of cooling wax on Harry’s pubes distractedly. 

“Almost ready,” she says, more to Jeff than to Harry, who’s all too familiar with being spoken about as though he’s not in the room. 

“Still close?” Jeff asks him, carefully letting go of one ankle and wrapping his hand around Harry’s flushed cock, avoiding the sticky wax entirely. 

Harry wails unashamedly the second Jeff touches him, thrashing his head from side to side in a frenzy. Jeff doesn’t slow his thrusts and his hand’s racing to catch up and Harry’s about to come, close and hot and twisting tight  _ again.  _ “Ohhhhhhh  _ fuck. _ ”

“Yes then,” Glenne laughs, tapping the wax a second time to check before maneuvering her hand into place around Jeff’s, still pumping Harry’s cock in time with his thrusts as Harry breaks into breathy sobs beneath them. “Okay, baby, here we go. Deep breath.” 

Harry couldn't take a deep breath if he tried, every attempt at a steady inhale knocked out of him by the punishing thrusts Jeff’s delivering straight onto his prostate. 

Then without a countdown or preamble, Glenne pulls. Firmly, with one smooth  _ rip.  _

Harry feels the skin beneath his pubes screaming feral in agony and it takes a second to realise he’s screaming along with it, high and nasal, his fingernails close to breaking the skin of his thighs where he’s holding them. His skin’s throbbing and he’s sure it’s ripped clean open. Sure she’s taken a few inches of his actual  _ body  _ away with the hair. 

For one moment he’s held in complete limbo, fuzzy and buoyant and not-entirely-there. He can almost hear Glenne cooing above him. Can _ almost _ hear Jeff’s strained grunts as he holds himself back from orgasm, but he can barely feel the thick stretch of Jeff’s cock or the damp over-sensitive pressure around his own as Jeff strips his hand frantically. A particularly well-aimed thrust brings him back into the room.

“Look,” Glenne says quietly, her voice finally decipherable over Harry’s own wet sobs and the sound of Jeff’s cock splitting him open. 

And the second he looks down he’s finished. Absolutely  _ over  _ and done for. His pubes are still patchy, and will definitely need a few more strips but where he’s smooth... _ fuck.  _

All at once every feeling rushes back like a crashing wave and his mind catches up with the overwhelming barrage of sensations assaulting his body and he comes. With an ear-splitting wail, beneath the both of them, he comes. Shooting thick hot spurts across his stomach and chest, one pulse making its way to his chin and splashing heavy against his skin, a flood of delicious heat filling every fibre of his body. 

Jeff fucks him through it, forcing out the last few ropes of Harry’s come until he’s emptying his own into Harry’s sensitive fucked-out hole. 

~

It takes longer than usual for Harry to regain composure completely, shivering and pliant as Glenne drags his duvet up from the floor for Harry to cling onto and cuddle. He wraps his arms around it and nuzzles in deeply. 

“I’ll run you a bath before we do the rest,” she says softly. “Jeff can clean you up and bring you through.” 

“Thank you,” Harry says weakly, rubbing the soft cotton against his cheek and wiping the stray tears from the corners of his eyes. “Love you.” 

“Love you too, H. But maybe the salon was a bad idea,” Glenne muses, running a finger through the cooling puddle of come on Harry’s stomach. “You’re a liability,” she smiles, taking his fingers to squeeze briefly before making her way through to the bathroom. 

Jeff’s tucks himself back into his jeans, picking up Harry’s hastily-discarded dress from the floor and draping it across the foot of the bed and settling down beside Harry. He leans down to press a kiss to his temple, slick with salty sweat. 

“You know I love you but don’t fucking try that again. You could’ve burned yourself,” Harry’s used to the way Jeff worries, but he might be right on this occasion. 

“I won’t,” he promises. 

“Are you ready to get up? I can wait.” He runs his fingers through Harry’s damp hair. 

“Mmhm,” Harry makes to stand. 

“You enjoy your bath. I’ll order more wax.” 


End file.
